Chapter XLVI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Had not been in Tahiti long before I met Captain Nichols.He came in one morning when I was having breakfast on the terraceof the hotel and introduced himself. He had heard that I wasinterested in Charles Strickland, and announced that he wascome to have a talk about him. They are as fond of gossip inTahiti as in an English village, and one or two enquiries Ihad made for pictures by Strickland had been quickly spread.I asked the stranger if he had breakfasted."Yes; I have my coffee early," he answered, "but I don't mindhaving a drop of whisky."I called the Chinese boy."You don't think it's too early?" said the Captain."You and your liver must decide that between you," I replied."I'm practically a teetotaller," he said, as he poured himselfout a good half-tumbler of Canadian Club.When he smiled he showed broken and discoloured teeth. He wasa very lean man, of no more than average height, with grayhair cut short and a stubbly gray moustache. He had notshaved for a couple of days. His face was deeply lined,burned brown by long exposure to the sun, and he had a pair ofsmall blue eyes which were astonishingly shifty. They movedquickly, following my smallest gesture, and they gave him thelook of a very thorough rogue. But at the moment he was allheartiness and good-fellowship. He was dressed in abedraggled suit of khaki, and his hands would have been allthe better for a wash."I knew Strickland well," he said, as he leaned back in hischair and lit the cigar I had offered him. "It's through mehe came out to the islands.""Where did you meet him?" I asked."In Marseilles.""What were you doing there?"He gave me an ingratiating smile."Well, I guess I was on the beach."My friend's appearance suggested that he was now in thesame predicament, and I prepared myself to cultivate anagreeable acquaintance. The society of beach-combers alwaysrepays the small pains you need be at to enjoy it. They areeasy of approach and affable in conversation. They seldom puton airs, and the offer of a drink is a sure way to their hearts.You need no laborious steps to enter upon familiarity withthem, and you can earn not only their confidence, but theirgratitude, by turning an attentive ear to their discourse.They look upon conversation as the great pleasure of life,thereby proving the excellence of their civilisation, and forthe most part they are entertaining talkers. The extent oftheir experience is pleasantly balanced by the fertility oftheir imagination. It cannot be said that they are without guile,but they have a tolerant respect for the law, when thelaw is supported by strength. It is hazardous to play pokerwith them, but their ingenuity adds a peculiar excitement tothe best game in the world. I came to know Captain Nicholsvery well before I left Tahiti, and I am the richer for hisacquaintance. I do not consider that the cigars and whisky heconsumed at my expense (he always refused cocktails, since hewas practically a teetotaller), and the few dollars, borrowedwith a civil air of conferring a favour upon me, that passedfrom my pocket to his, were in any way equivalent to theentertainment he afforded me. I remained his debtor.I should be sorry if my conscience, insisting on a rigidattention to the matter in hand, forced me to dismiss him in acouple of lines.I do not know why Captain Nichols first left England. It wasa matter upon which he was reticent, and with persons of hiskind a direct question is never very discreet. He hinted atundeserved misfortune, and there is no doubt that he lookedupon himself as the victim of injustice. My fancy played withthe various forms of fraud and violence, and I agreed with himsympathetically when he remarked that the authorities in theold country were so damned technical. But it was nice to seethat any unpleasantness he had endured in his native land hadnot impaired his ardent patriotism. He frequently declaredthat England was the finest country in the world, sir, and hefelt a lively superiority over Americans, Colonials, Dagos,Dutchmen, and Kanakas.But I do not think he was a happy man. He suffered fromdyspepsia, and he might often be seen sucking a tablet ofpepsin; in the morning his appetite was poor; but thisaffliction alone would hardly have impaired his spirits.He had a greater cause of discontent with life than this.Eight years before he had rashly married a wife. There are menwhom a merciful Providence has undoubtedly ordained to a singlelife, but who from wilfulness or through circumstances theycould not cope with have flown in the face of its decrees.There is no object more deserving of pity than the married bachelor.Of such was Captain Nichols. I met his wife. She wasa woman of twenty-eight, I should think, though of a typewhose age is always doubtful; for she cannot have lookeddifferent when she was twenty, and at forty would look noolder. She gave me an impression of extraordinary tightness.Her plain face with its narrow lips was tight, her skin wasstretched tightly over her bones, her smile was tight, herhair was tight, her clothes were tight, and the white drillshe wore had all the effect of black bombazine. I could notimagine why Captain Nichols had married her, and havingmarried her why he had not deserted her. Perhaps he had,often, and his melancholy arose from the fact that he couldnever succeed. However far he went and in howsoever secret aplace he hid himself, I felt sure that Mrs. Nichols,inexorable as fate and remorseless as conscience, wouldpresently rejoin him. He could as little escape her as thecause can escape the effect.The rogue, like the artist and perhaps the gentleman, belongsto no class. He is not embarrassed by the sans gene ofthe hobo, nor put out of countenance by the etiquette of theprince. But Mrs. Nichols belonged to the well-defined class,of late become vocal, which is known as the lower-middle.Her father, in fact, was a policeman. I am certain that he wasan efficient one. I do not know what her hold was on theCaptain, but I do not think it was love. I never heard her speak,but it may be that in private she had a copious conversation.At any rate, Captain Nichols was frightened to death of her.Sometimes, sitting with me on the terrace of the hotel,he would become conscious that she was walking in the road outside.She did not call him; she gave no sign that she was awareof his existence; she merely walked up and down composedly.Then a strange uneasiness would seize the Captain;he would look at his watch and sigh."Well, I must be off," he said.Neither wit nor whisky could detain him then. Yet he was aman who had faced undaunted hurricane and typhoon, and wouldnot have hesitated to fight a dozen unarmed niggers withnothing but a revolver to help him. Sometimes Mrs. Nicholswould send her daughter, a pale-faced, sullen child of seven,to the hotel."Mother wants you," she said, in a whining tone."Very well, my dear," said Captain Nichols.He rose to his feet at once, and accompanied his daughteralong the road. I suppose it was a very pretty example of thetriumph of spirit over matter, and so my digression has atleast the advantage of a moral.